Dialogues with Grief

My grief is a multifaceted detective
It goes by many aliases
You already know the basics: anger, bargaining, depression, denial,
It refuses to take the name of acceptance.
It doesn't like to wear anger, because it is just too flashy
So instead, it travels around my body, its whole world,
Using other aliases - addiction, apathy, compulsion, deprivation.
And as I sit on my unchangeable place, grief will whisper softly
"It was our fault. We failed."

People will tell me that it was not my fault.
That there was absolutely nothing I could do.
Grief distorts its face and almost blows its cover.
It replies in hurried whispers
"There is more to it than that"

And because grief is such a great detective, it always carries around
A big bag of evidences
It bargains with me
"Do you remember what you told the doctors?"
Yes, I do remember.
"Do you remember what they said when they let him go?"
Yes, I do remember. It never lets me forget.
Then grief points its red fingers to every time they told me it was a mistake.
Grief spins on its heels, ready to let a huge swarm of bees
Out of its stern mouth
"A mistake? A mistake?
A mistake is leaving your keys on your work desk. A mistake is cutting your hair at home. A mistake is typing the wrong bank password more than two times. A mistake is not bringing your umbrella with you on a rainy day.
No, this was not a mistake" - Grief shouts to everyone who is willing to hear - "this was just their fault. Every single one of them should be held responsible."
I hold Grief close to my chest and calm it down. I feed it, bathe it and put it to bed early. I think about its little outbursts as I sit back exhausted and ask for another emergency meeting with Forgiveness. We stare at each other - I've known Forgiveness for a while, but we just never got really close. It stares at me and offers me a hand. I close mine into a fist until my knuckles are white, because I'm just not ready for it.
You see, Grief cannot tolerate the idea of the use of the word mistake.
Neither can I.